Sandy, our old camp cook, made a third in the party."

CHAPTER XV

THE STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE

Tisdale paused another moment, while his far-seeing gaze sifted the
shadows of Constance, then began: "We had made camp that afternoon, at the
point where Rocky Brook tumbles over the last boulders to join the swift
current of the Dosewallups. I am something of an angler, and Sandy knew
how to treat a Dolly Varden to divide honors with a rainbow; so while the
others were pitching the tents, it fell to me to push up stream with my
rod and flies. The banks rose in sharp pitches under low boughs of fir,
hemlock, or cedar, but I managed to keep well to the bed of the stream,
working from boulder to boulder and stopping to make a cast wherever a
riffle looked promising. Finally, to avoid an unusually deep pool, I
detoured around through the trees. It was very still in there; not even
the cry of a jay or the drum of a woodpecker to break the silence, until
suddenly I heard voices. Then, in a tangle of young alder, I picked up a
trail and came soon on a group of squaws picking wild blackberries. They
made a great picture with their beautifully woven, gently flaring,
water-tight baskets, stained like pottery; their bright shawls wrapped
scarfwise around their waists out of the way; heads bound in gay
handkerchiefs. It was a long distance from any settlement, and they
stood watching me curiously while I wedged myself between twin cedars, on
over a big fallen fir, out of sight.

"A little later I found myself in a small pocket hemmed by cliffs of
nearly two hundred feet, over which the brook plunged in a fine cataract.
Above, where it cut the precipice, a hanging spur of rock took the shape
of a tiger's profile, and a depression colored by mineral deposit formed a
big red eye; midway the stream struck shelving rock, breaking into a score
of cascades that spread out fan-shape and poured into a deep, green,
stone-lined pool; stirring, splashing, rippling ceaselessly, but so limpid
I could see the trout. It was a place that held me. When at last I put
away my flies and started down the bank, I knew dinner must be waiting for
me, but I had a string of beauties to pacify Sandy. As I hurried down to
the fallen tree, I heard the squaws calling to each other at a different
point out of sight up the ridge; then I found a step in the rough bole
and, setting my hands on the top, vaulted over. The next instant I would
have given any